


Hearing Damage

by onecent



Series: No Evil [1]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - No Superheroes, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobic Language, Past Child Abuse, friendship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5256926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onecent/pseuds/onecent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant Barnes leads a small unit of snipers in the US Army in Afghanistan. Private Barton is a new soldier assigned to his unit. Private Barton is also a giant ass, maybe even a bigger one than Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You can follow them to hell._  
>  "[Thiskidsnotalright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRIx1CP0Lrk)," AWOLNATION

“Hey there, Bucky,” Lieutenant Sam Wilson said with a wave. “Don’t tell me you’re on break already.”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his friends, waved back and grinned. “Why, you afraid I’m just here to whoop your ass at darts again?”

“Uh-uh, not this time. I’ve been practicing.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, all right. You keep practicing. I’ll have mercy on you today.” He looked around, slightly furtive. “Is Hampton here today?”

“Yeah, he’s around.” Sam seemed surprised at the question. “Why, you need him?”

“Nah, just weird to see you two not attached at the hip. I thought maybe they separated you two for your own good.”

“You’re a real hoot, you know that?” Sam said, leaning over his work. “Let me know when you’re done with the ribbing so I can get some real work done. You know, the kind you never seem to do.”

“Excuse you?” Bucky said, crossing his arms and grinning. “You wanna try wrangling a bunch of new soldiers?”

Sam flinched. “They got you on newbies again?”

“Not really. I’m here to pick up a couple more to fill up my squad. After, you know.” Bucky’s face fell, remembering his friends who were injured and sent home after the mission last month.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. All sharpshooters?”

“I don’t know for sure. Might have a specialist.” Bucky shrugged.

“Well, I’ll be sure to warn them all very thoroughly about you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m confident you will be a great leader and that you will drive them hard enough that they want to cry.” Sam’s face split into a wide grin. “Hey, do me a favor? Let me be there the first time they see you shoot.”

Bucky grinned in response. “No promises,” he said, “but we’ve got practice on the range tomorrow morning at ten hundred hours. If you think you can make it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“Hey, Barnes!” The smile dropped off Bucky’s face as he turned toward the familiar voice. Lieutenant Riley Hampton stood in the doorway to the office, waving. “I’ve got a couple of lost puppies out here, and their escort says they’re waiting for you.” He walked in and sat heavily in the empty chair next to Sam. “Sounds like someone’s avoiding work. Best get out there.”

“Good to see you, too,” Bucky said, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against. “No, really, we should talk more often.” He waved at Sam. “I’ll see you later.”

“Give ‘em hell, soldier,” Sam said with a smirk.

“Go to hell, soldier.” Bucky saluted a laughing Sam on his way out.

The sun was bright, and he shielded his eyes and squinted as he stepped outside. When his eyes had adjusted, he saw four men waiting just outside the door to Air Force command, where Sam worked. Three had large bags slung over their shoulders. The fourth stepped forward as he emerged.

“Sergeant Barnes?” he asked.

“That’s me,” Bucky replied with a nod.

“Great. I’m Lieutenant Casey, escorting Privates Rollins, Rumlow, and Barton. They’re all yours.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant.” Bucky looked over the new arrivals as best as he could in the harsh sunlight.

Rollins was the biggest, built like a brick wall. Rumlow was shorter, only a few inches taller than Bucky, but still all muscle, and there was a spark of intelligence on his face that seemed missing from Rollins. Barton was only a little shorter than Rollins but looked to be all skin and bones, and he was already sporting a broken nose. The bruising left his eyes swollen almost shut. Despite that, he kept glancing around at everyone and everything. He was practically spinning in place as he tried to look about. Rollins and Rumlow stayed focused and looked like statues in comparison. If Bucky had to guess, those two were snipers and Barton was a specialist, trained in weapons and repairs rather than how to sit on a rooftop for hours.

“Welcome to Bagram, Afghanistan, soldiers. I’m Sergeant James Barnes, and I’ll be your superior officer for the next few years,” Bucky said, turning away. “We’ll start with your basic tour of the base.” He led them back to barracks, in this case a long, low building empty of everything except two rows of bunk beds and the possessions of the men who slept there. “We got—Barton!”

Barton had drifted slightly away from the group and was staring up at a nearby building. He hurried over when his name was called. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“You’re not in basic anymore. I’m a sergeant, not a sir. And you’re a soldier, not a moonstruck lover, so a little less staring into space and a little more focus.” Bucky waved at the barracks. “This shithole is your home for a while, so get cozy. We’re tight on space for the time being, so just take whatever bed is open and drop off your things. Then get back out here so we can finish the tour.”

The three men went inside, but Rumlow and Rollins quickly emerged, still holding their bags.

“Something the matter?” Bucky asked.

“Where are the lockers?” Rumlow asked.

“I told you, we don’t have much here. What did you expect, four star accommodations? Just dump it on your bed.”

The two new soldiers shared a look. “Sergeant Barnes,” Rumlow said, “it’s just that…I think we’d feel safer if we could store our things away.”

“What, you think someone will steal it? You don’t even know anyone here yet to suspect.”

Another look. Behind them, Barton came out of the bunker. He’d shed his jacket, and Bucky could see bruises on his upper arms now.

“I’m ready,” Barton chirped.

Rumlow and Rollins glared at him. Then they went inside to deposit their own bags. Bucky took the opportunity to give Barton another once-over, taking in the shifty eyes and twitchy fingers.

“Nasty nose job you got there,” he said with a nod. “How’d you get that?”

“Telephone pole,” Barton replied without hesitation. “Kabor was fucking covered in them. Walked outside for a breath of air and to take in the local scenery, boom. Right into a goddamn pole.” He shrugged. “My own fault. I’m not really all that careful.”

The other two men came outside. They fell in right next to Barton, who took a small, jittery step away. Bucky frowned at the trio.

“All right,” he said slowly. He could tell he was going to have problems with this new batch. “Let’s get you three settled.”

——————————

Bucky’s squad was on kitchen clean-up duty that night. After the meal was over, they stuck around to wash dishes and throw away most of the remaining food. It was never a fun job, and it was made less fun by the sight of all the food going to waste, but the Army regulations about saving food were very strict.

In the middle of clean-up, though, Bucky caught Barton stuffing bread into his pockets. He walked over close to keep the conversation private.

“Hey. You gotta throw that out,” he said.

Barton looked up at Bucky, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Come on, the bread. You can’t store it. It’s against regs. You’ll attract ants and mice. We gotta throw it out.”

“Oh.” Barton reached down and slowly pulled a dinner roll out of his pocket. “But if we’re just gonna throw it away, I mean, I get hungry a lot during the night.”

“Buddy, they’re not my rules, and I have to live under them too, just like everyone else. We all suffer just the same here.” He clapped Barton on the shoulder. “Just finish up and make sure that stuff gets tossed.”

He turned away to wipe down his counter. When he was almost done cleaning it off, he heard a small thwack. A small triangle of folded paper was resting on the countertop. Bucky recognized it as a paper football, something all the boys in his class used to play with in middle school. He spun to see who had thrown it, but everyone was busy working. Bucky looked specifically for Barton, but he was carrying a large tray of dinner rolls out the back door to the trash can.

Bucky frowned. But with no one looking suspicious, he decided it wasn’t worth making a big fuss over. He swept the football into the garbage and finished cleaning his station.

——————————

The next morning, the men started with basic exercises before heading to breakfast and then off to the shooting range. Sam was already waiting there by the time Bucky showed up with his squad.

“Jesus, man, eager much?” Bucky said.

Sam just grinned. “You know how much I love watching this sort of thing. How else am I supposed to get my kicks?”

“There’s this new vendor, I hear,” Bucky said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the barracks. “He’s got these special videos, might keep you occupied.”

“Shut the hell up and get this show on the road, man. I still got things to do today.” Sam eyed everyone in the line. “So who are the newbies?”

“That’ll be Rumlow here, Rollins, and Barton there in the back.” Barton was looking all around again, mostly appearing to be staring up at the sky despite the strong sun. “What’s your average skill set, boys?” he asked.

Rumlow smirked. “I’m a good shot, Sarge. Trained with some of the best. Rollins, too.”

Barton sneezed. He looked up, hand over his mouth and rubbing his nose. “Sorry,” he said.

“And you?” Bucky asked him.

“And me what?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “How’s your aim? I’d ask about your hearing but it seems that’s already shot to hell.”

Barton frowned and looked down at his feet for a moment, then looked back up and stared at Bucky. “I’m all right,” he said.

“Good. Then I’ll let you three go first so we can get a good idea of your abilities.”

Sam butted in. “Fifty bucks to anyone who can outshoot the sergeant here,” he said.

The rest of Bucky’s squad all chuckled and rolled their eyes. “Oh, we’re up to fifty this time?” someone called out.

“Do I get the fifty if I win?” Bucky asked.

“Hell no.”

Rollins, Rumlow, and Barton all lined up to shoot. Being a team of snipers, each man was outfitted with an M24 that they would take out on a special range for later training. But for now, they were shooting with a basic M9 handgun at 50 yards to get a basic idea of their skills. Bucky watched their stance to see how they handled the guns.

Rumlow was right. He was a good shot. He recovered from the recoil quickly and accurately, each shot falling in the center of the target. Rollins was jerkier, requiring extra time to get ready, but his shots again were solidly in the center. Barton took each shot on its own, taking a deep breath, and Bucky had to resist telling him to hurry up. All the extra time hardly seemed to matter, anyway. The shots were wild, with three across the center of the target, two up at the top and two at the bottom.

“What do you think, Sarge?” Barton asked, showing off his paper.

“What happened to the rest of your shots?” Bucky asked. There were only seven holes on the page, despite the fact that he’d emptied an entire clip of 15 bullets.

“Guess they must’ve gone wild,” Barton said with a casual shrug.

“We’ll have to work on that,” Bucky said. He made a mental note to never put Barton on skill shots. He’d called it, at least. Weapons specialist. “All right, everyone else line up now.” He walked over to Sam with the first three target sheets. “Here are your new contenders.”

Sam looked through the sheets and chuckled. “Not a chance in hell,” he said. He took a second look at Barton’s sheet. “Who let this boy out of training? This spread is totally wild.”

“Yeah, that’s basically what I was thinking.”

“Funny, though.” Sam squinted at the page. “It kinda looks like the constellation of Orion.”

Bucky snorted and grinned. “Of course you’d notice that. You’re such a nerd. All right, I’m up.” Bucky stepped up to the range, stretching his shoulders to loosen up. “Time to win a bet,” he said, unholstering his gun. He took a breath to steady himself, then let off his shots in quick succession, already too used to the recoil to let it affect his aim. When the sheet came in, all the shots were within a circle one inch wide. “And I believe that’s fifty dollars Lieutenant Wilson here gets to use to buy me drinks later.”

Sam looked up from his close inspection of Barton’s target sheet and grinned at the neat holes on Bucky’s paper. He glanced over the rest of the squad. The older soldiers were just sighing and shaking their heads. Rumlow and Rollins looked impressed and glanced at Bucky with a bit more respect. But Barton…

Barton was watching Bucky like he was an interesting challenge. And when he felt Sam’s gaze, he turned and looked down at the target sheet Sam was still holding. Then he smirked and gave what might have been a small wink before turning away to stare up at the roof of a nearby building.

Bucky turned to see Barton staring off into the distance again and he sighed. “All right, that’s enough fun. Who’s ready to help pick up the shells?”

The squad groaned but obediently began picking up the shells littering the ground. Sam waved goodbye to his friend, then folded up Barton’s target sheet and tucked it away before heading back to his post.

——————————

Bucky started noticing the dogs the next week. First it was just one, an old mutt hanging around the barracks more often. Then they seemed to multiply, until there was a whole group of dogs hanging around. They weren’t a real problem, more of a nuisance, but it was enough of an annoyance that Bucky started looking around for the cause. His search started and ended with Barton.

He watched the man excuse himself from the barracks after dinner and followed him outside. Barton was kneeling in a circle of dogs, pulling something that must have been food from his pocket and giving it to them. They all yipped excitedly and tripped over each other to get the food. Barton just laughed and started petting all the dogs.

“Barton, what are you doing?” Bucky called out.

Barton’s head jerked up, and he looked over at Bucky guiltily. Bucky couldn’t figure out why he would be so guilty about feeding the dogs until he realized where the food must be coming from. He was still stealing from the kitchen.

Barton shook off the guilty look quickly and sauntered over. The dogs trailed after him, licking at his empty fingers. “Everything okay, Sarge?” he asked.

“Looks like you made some new friends,” Bucky said. He looked over the mangy strays.

“Yeah.” Barton rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I’m just good with animals.”

“Well do me a favor then. Keep them away from the barracks where I’m always tripping over them. And stop feeding them kitchen scraps. I already told you it’s against regs.”

Barton sighed. His shoulders drooped. “All right.”

Of course, Barton wasn’t actually good with the animals, he just liked them. The dogs continued to haunt the barracks area, and they continued to look up at Barton with those dirt-encrusted eyes and dry noses, and he caved and got them more food every time. Bucky couldn’t prove the food was from the kitchens, though. Barton’s sleight-of-hand had improved dramatically, and no one ever saw him sneaking food. So there wasn’t anything Bucky could do about the damn dogs.

The same was true about the other accusations trickling in about Barton. These mostly came from Rumlow and Rollins, but a couple of the other soldiers in the squad seemed to have similar complaints. Barton was stealing their things, Barton stank like dog, Barton was talking shit, Barton was starting fights. And in most instances, it was a claim that seemed to have no actual evidence or was too mundane to really be acted on. The best Bucky could do was tell Barton to shower more often and promise to watch him more carefully.

Then, around the same time that the complaints about Barton starting fights came to an abrupt halt, he started showing up with unexplained bruises. But when Bucky asked Barton about it, he always had an explanation. He’d run into a door, a pole, a building. He’d tripped over a dog. He’d fallen out of bed. Anything except taken a punch from another soldier.

A week or two after that, there was an explosion of paper footballs. Everyone was hit, but Rumlow and Rollins got it worst. The triangles of paper turned up balanced on weapons, underneath pillows, and inside shoes. Once, one fell from the roof straight down onto Rollins’ head when Barton wasn’t even in the building. Bucky even found one inside the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. They were, like the dogs, overall harmless but extremely annoying. Bucky was getting more and more upset with Barton.

It didn’t help that the man was an absolute disaster on the shooting range. Every week Bucky took him out and worked with him at the small range on base, giving small pointers about how to work faster and make sure the recoil didn’t throw off the aim. He checked Barton’s gun to make sure it wasn’t off, but everything about it seemed to be in perfect order. Barton just couldn’t seem to make a real shot.

He wasn’t even a good weapons specialist to make up for it. Whenever the team went out to the special range, Bucky paired up with Barton. He’d line up the shot and let Clint manage the weapons, keeping everything in order and pulling out the correct gun for each shot, but the guy kept mixing up the weapons. Clearly, putting Barton into a specialized squad had been a mistake.

“I swear his aim is getting worse.” Bucky sat with Sam in the mess hall. He had another one of Barton’s target sheets in front of him. “Three months, Sam. I’ve had to deal with this guy for three months. And now, look at this! They’re just…I mean, there was a moment when I thought he might be getting better, at least he was hitting the paper more often. But this, this is a godawful spread!”

Sam inspected the latest sheet and grinned. “Actually, it looks pretty deliberate to me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sam pulled out five other sheets of paper and unfolded them carefully. Each was one of Barton’s previous target sheets, and each had a label on it in Sam’s neat handwriting.

“Remember how I said the first one looked like the constellation Orion?” he said, tapping one of the sheets. “I checked it against an actual picture of the constellation. It isn’t just kind of like it. It’s dead on.”

Bucky inspected the paper anew. “So you’re saying…?”

“Every single one’s a different constellation. We’ve got Gemini, Hercules, and Sagittarius. That plus your Orion, I’d say it makes for a pretty compelling picture.”

“Son of a bitch.” Barnes grabbed up the paper again. “They’re on purpose. He’s been shooting like this on purpose!”

“It gets better, actually. Remember how you thought all his shots went wild that first week?” Sam pointed again at Orion. “Check the holes.”

It was hard to tell on a first or second look, but now that Bucky had an idea of what he was seeing, the signs were more obvious. “Two bullets in each hole,” he said.

Sam nodded. “Rigel and Betelgeuse are even a little bigger than the other stars.”

“That goddamned son of a bitch. I’m going to kill him.” Bucky slammed the paper down onto the table. “I’ve been working my ass off trying to figure out how to turn this guy into a decent shot, and he’s been pulling my leg this whole time.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend, who was desperately trying to hide a smile. “And you! How long have you known?”

“Well, I can’t say I _knew_ anything…”

“Tell me!”

“I’ve suspected from the beginning. I saw Barton at the shooting range. He looked far too smug for someone who’d just made the worst shots on base.”

Bucky grit his teeth. He looked at the new target sheet. “And this one? What did he whip up this time?”

Sam snorted. “I don’t know, man. What do you think I am, a walking astronomy chart?”

Bucky just looked up at him.

“Of course you do,” Sam sighed. “Why am I surprised?”

“I’ve learned to stop underestimating you,” Bucky said, standing. His jaw firmed as he looked down at the target sheets, and he clenched his hands into tight fists.

“Uh, is everything okay?” Sam asked.

“It will be. I’m going to find that smug little asshole and figure out what kind of game he thinks he’s been playing. Then we’re going to have a real shooting contest. And I will grind him into the dust.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Sam stood and gathered all the papers from the table. “Don’t tell me you’re just worried about not being the best shot on base anymore.”

“I _know_ I’m the best shot on base. I’m going to use that to get back at him for lying to me this whole time. And then there’s the food, and the _dogs_ , and the stupid paper footballs everywhere—“

“The what now?”

Bucky turned and gave Sam a haunted look. “They’re his, Sam,” he said. “I know it. They’re his. I can’t prove it. There’s no way it should be possible. They turn up in the beds, in the ceiling, in my goddamn shirt sleeve! I don’t know how he does it, but there’s an infestation of those fucking paper footballs, and this is the last straw.”

“Buddy, have you considered you might need a break?”

“Trust me, Sam,” Bucky said, clutching the target sheet with white-knuckled fists, “I broke long ago."


	2. Sagittarius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit ‘em right between the eyes._  
>  "[You’re Gonna Go Far Kid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DTLcR5awn0)," The Offspring

Bucky stormed out of the mess hall and headed toward the barracks. A couple of his men were sitting outside the building playing cards. He stalked right up to them. “Barton?” he growled through gritted teeth.

They stared up at him in shock for a moment before one thumbed over his shoulder to point inside the building. Bucky marched past them into the building, already shouting.

“Barton!” he called out. “Get your ass over here.”

He watched Barton jump off his top bunk bed, landing heavily on the ground. The private shuffled over toward his fuming SO. Bucky jumped straight into his rebuke.

“What’s your problem, soldier?”

Barton made a move that might have been a small shrug.

“I’m asking you a question, Barton. You got some sort of hearing damage?”

And that got a response. The eyes that glared up at Bucky burned with fury. The voice that he used, though, was light and flippant, if clipped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you ‘sir’ me,” he said. “I know you’re doing it on purpose. You’ve been a thorn in my side since the moment you showed up. Picking fights with the other soldiers, stealing food from the kitchens, feeding all the pitiful scraps of fur you call dogs that limp around base. Those fucking paper footballs. And this.” He held up the latest target sheet. “How long did you plan to go on with this game?”

Barton’s eyes flicked over to the paper, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough,” he said. “Honestly, Sarge, with the way everyone here was tooting your praises, I really thought you’d catch on faster.”

Bucky turned and marched a step away. He took a few deep breaths to calm down. Then he flipped around again, stepping right into Barton’s face. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he snarled. “You are a private in the US Army. You are an ant in this city, and you have the audacity to disrespect your superior officer. You’ve been disobeying Army regulations against direct orders, and you have been wasting my time and resources for the sake of this useless pissing battle. 

“Now I’ve got a job to do, and I’m not going to spend any more time working with someone who can’t bother to follow simple orders and keep his mouth shut for the sake of his own skin. When you’re ready to be a soldier in my squad, let me know. Until then, you can clean these barracks with a toothbrush, and then you can clean every other building on this base and circle back around for eternity.”

Throughout this speech, Barton wilted incrementally until he was standing hunched, staring at the ground. He had his hands clasped in front of him, and they trembled slightly. He didn’t say anything when Bucky was finished. He simply nodded and turned away.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Barton turned, bracing himself like he could feel the hit coming, and said, “To get a toothbrush.”

Speechless for a moment at the idea that Barton was still responding with snarky comebacks, demonstrating his apparent death wish, Bucky just stood and watched him head for the door. 

——————————

For the next three days, Barton did not speak except as a direct response to an order. It wasn’t just that he didn’t talk to Bucky. He didn’t talk to anyone. Well, maybe he talked to the dogs. Bucky spotted him again on the second day, sitting outside petting one of the mangy mutts on the head. When he spotted Bucky, he was up like a shot, presumably to return to his cleaning. Bucky ignored him and went to go find Sam again.

“He’s more stubborn than I gave him credit for,” he said to Sam’s back as he sat at his desk doing paperwork. “An asshole, but at least a dedicated one.”

Hampton, sitting next to Sam, sighed and stood up. “I’m going to go…somewhere else. I’ll see you later, Sam.”

“See ya, Riley.” When Hampton was gone, Sam said, “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Buck. What are you even pissed at the guy for, anymore?”

“For wasting my time and Army resources,” Bucky snapped.

“He didn’t waste that much of your time. He just made you irritated. And as for wasting resources, are we talking about the food? Because you know that stuff was going straight into the garbage.”

“Then he was stealing.”

“Again, from the garbage.”

“Against the rules!”

“Because you’ve always been one for following the rules.”

Bucky glared at the back of Sam’s head. “Have I ever mentioned how much I don’t like you?”

“It’s come up before, yes.” Sam spun in his chair to look at Bucky. “Look, the guy pranked you. He pranked the whole squad. And he got you good. You’re mad at being shown up, especially in front of your men. But it didn’t get him anything, did it? No one even likes him. He’s probably bored out of his skull with no one to talk to.”

“He could’ve talked to me! Instead of being an ass this whole time!”

“Okay, well, one you are his SO, so he might’ve felt weird doing that. And two, haven’t you been pissed at this guy from the first day he showed up?”

“He was—“ Bucky stopped to remember what exactly about Clint had driven him nuts those first few days. “He…there was the fighting.”

“Which you never saw.”

“Well.”

“And there’s no proof that he ever instigated.”

“But the staring off into the distance!”

Sam snorted. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? He doesn’t always look at you?”

“Or listen.”

“Do you think he doesn’t listen on purpose?”

“I think he’s always daydreaming. He hardly ever seems focused on things.”

“Sounds a lot like he’s bored.” Sam spun back around to his work. “I dunno, man. I think maybe you jumped down his throat because you felt wounded. And now he’s too hurt and too stubborn to come and apologize. Especially in front of everyone. Maybe you should go talk to him.”

Bucky sighed. “I hate it when you’re the voice of reason.”

“I thought that was why you liked me.”

“That too.”

Hampton was coming back. He carried a cup of coffee in one hand.

“All right, I’m going to head out,” Bucky said. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t do anything stupid,” Sam said. “Or at least, you know, try.”

“Same to you, asshole.”

“Like I ever do anything stupid.”

Bucky glanced at Hampton, who slid into his seat. “Yeah. Well. Take care.”

It still took Bucky another day to finally bite the bullet and approach Clint separately. It was just the two of them in the barracks, with Clint up on a ladder cleaning the doorframe with his woebegone toothbrush.

“How’re you feeling, soldier?” Bucky said in an attempt to ease his way into the conversation.

“I think I’ve shrunk to your size,” Barton said. “I’ve got a permanent hunch in my back, right?” He finished scrubbing at a dark spot on the doorjamb. Then he placed the toothbrush on top of the doorframe and climbed down the ladder. He looked down at the ground as he started speaking, then managed to stare past Bucky’s head.  “You still looking for a soldier? I’m still working on keeping my mouth shut, but I’ll do my best with the other stuff.”

Bucky recognized the unspoken apology and decided to take it and try to let go of the grudge. “I suppose I can handle that.” He checked his watch. “But if I’m going to have a new soldier in my squad, I want to see how he shoots.”

Barton grinned. “Twenty bucks I’m a better shot than you.”

“Deal.”

The two headed out to the shooting range. There were some other people already there, but as soon as a spot opened up Bucky claimed it. “All right, Barton. Let me see your actual best.”

Barton looked down the range at the target. “Is there any way we can scoot it back?” he asked.

Bucky checked the position. “Sorry. 50 yards is as far as this one goes.”

“It’ll do for now, I guess,” Barton said. “But if this round is inconclusive, we will have to come up with something more challenging.”

Bucky grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

Barton leveled his handgun at the target, took a deep breath, and fired off ten shots back to back. He then turned to Bucky. “To save on time, I sent all of my shots through the upper right corner of the page. You pick another spot on the page, and we’ll see who has a tighter cluster.” He handed his gun to Bucky. “So you know everything is fair.”

Bucky grasped the weapon and sighted down the range. He could see Barton’s cluster in the corner of the page and decided to stick to the traditional. He fired ten shots at the bullseye and hit the button to bring in the target sheet.

“Hmm.” Barton took down the sheet and examined the two spots. He measured Bucky’s grouping with his fingers, measuring across its furthest point, and then brought it up to compare with his own. “Well, looks like you owe me twenty bucks.”

“What? No I don’t,” Bucky said, grabbing the sheet. He did the same measurement. “They are practically the same. We need a ruler.”

“All right, get a ruler. And then get me my twenty bucks.”

They didn’t have a ruler handy, but Clint pulled out a bit of string and they marked that to compare the two clusters. Clint’s was slightly smaller.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Bucky said. “I call for a rematch. I hit the bullseye. All you had to do was fire your first shot and just keep your angle the same. It’s not the same.”

“Aw, come on Sarge, don’t be a sore loser.”

“I’m not. I just want a fair challenge.”

“Then how about we make something more interesting?” Barton waggled his eyebrows. “You come up with a challenge, one that is actually about _aim_ , and I’ll still beat you. I’ll even beat you with a different projectile. Darts, pennies…”

“Paper footballs?” Bucky asked.

Barton shrugged, but he was grinning. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“What weapon do you prefer?”

Barton’s smile was slow and downright evil. He looked like he was planning some sort of horribly devious scheme, and Bucky was reminded of a similar blonde with a mischievous grin, leaving him with an uncomfortable ache in his chest.

“How about this. You pick your favorite weapon and I’ll pick mine. We’ll take them in next time we go out to the field and come up with a more interesting challenge for ourselves. Sound good to you?”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll get us out tomorrow.”

“Great. Then I’ll see you on the range tomorrow, Sarge.”

“It’s a date.” 

Bucky watched Barton head off to the mess hall and shook his head to stop thinking about idiots with blonde hair and light eyes. Sam’s smug face came swimming up instead, and Bucky simply whispered, “Damn you,” to the apparition.

——————————

That night was uneventful. There remained a blessed absence of the paper footballs despite Barton actually having some extra time on his hands again, and none of the other soldiers said anything about him being off cleaning duty. There were a few dirty looks, but that was it, and Bucky was grateful not to have to step in.

Somehow, word about the shooting contest managed to get around. When Bucky’s squad got ready to head out the next day, he spotted Sam lurking around, along with a couple other people including Hampton. Bucky detoured to say hello to his friend.

“You invite this party?” he asked Sam.

“Nope. I heard about it through the grapevine. But I wanted to find out if it was true.” Sam grinned and looked past Bucky. “Here comes your boy now. What the hell is he carrying?”

Whatever it was Barton was holding, it was almost his height and wrapped in a long length of cloth. He was walking over from the direction of the barracks, and when he stepped up to Bucky’s side he grinned.

“Ready to go, Sarge?” he asked.

Bucky eyed the mysterious object. “The hell is that?”

“Mine. Don’t worry, I can handle it. You pick out your weapon of choice for today?”

Bucky patted his M24. “Always go with the tried and true, I say.”

“Then let’s head out.”

The field for sniper training was outside the base and included a variety of terrain and objects. Each team had their position and a target, as well as a time. They needed to get out to their position as quickly and quietly as possible, get set up, and wait until the go-ahead to make the shot. Today, Bucky had requested a more challenging target for himself and Barton, a half-hidden target 500 yards out.

Bucky went first, lining up the shot and calling it. “Head,” he breathed before pulling the trigger.

Barton, next to him, still hadn’t pulled out a weapon. He waited to look at the target--without a sight--before unwrapping the thing he’d hauled all the way out here.

“A bow?!” Bucky exclaimed.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” Barton strung the longbow in one quick motion and selected an arrow. “Get it? Don’t nock it?”

“Oh my god. You’re...oh my god.” Bucky swore he was not in shock. Not from the bow or the bad jokes. “This is not happening to me. No way you can make that. Bows aren’t even, they can’t...can they?”

“I can,” Barton said. He called the shot. “Heart.” And released.

Bucky watched the arrow fly up high, too high to possibly be on target, and start to curve down. “No fucking way,” he said, checking the sight on his rifle to watch the arrow strike through the heart on the target. “No one is going to believe this.”

“So do I win?” Barton asked.

Bucky scowled and ground his teeth. “Technically, you made your shot and I made mine. We didn’t score on showmanship.”

“Sounds like someone’s being a sore loser, but I look forward to our next competition.” Barton grinned. He reached up to unhook his bowstring and pack everything up. Bucky unclipped the magazine from his rifle and attached it to his belt.

Finally recovering his shock, Bucky asked, “Where did you even learn to shoot like that? I mean, a bow and arrow?”

Barton finished wrapping up his bow and quiver. He didn’t say anything for a long minute. Then he straightened with the cloth-rolled tube in his hands. “How about a game?” he said. “Two truths and a lie. You know how to play? I’ll say three things. You tell me which of them is the lie.”

“Uh, okay?”

The two men started walking back.

“First thing. I started learning when I was four. Not arrows or guns or anything, just basic aiming. Knowing where something is going to go and how to get it there. Second thing. I went to summer camp for archery for nine years starting when I was nine, and I won a bunch of medals there. Third thing. I ended up joining the circus and trained a lot there. I got really good at trick shots.”

“You joined the circus?” Bucky asked, disbelieving.

“I told you one of them’s a lie.”

“Well then the circus thing.”

“Nope. That one’s true.”

“So, what then? The camp?”

“Yep. I never spent a single day in summer archery camp. Or any other type of camp.”

Bucky paused for a moment to process all of this information. “So when did you first pick up a gun?” he settled on saying.

“Basic training.”

Bucky gave a low whistle. “Then you’re a damn good shot, Barton.”

“Actually, Sarge.” Barton turned to Bucky and looked up, first a little shy and then seeming to put on some sort of courage because the spark came back to his eyes and he grinned. “My friends call me Clint.”


	3. Hercules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We ain’t going down like this._  
>  "[Beast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7OYLVznNvQ)," Nico Vega

“Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky squinted at the figure in front of him and let his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. He looked for the insignia first and spotted a lieutenant’s badge. “Yes, sir?” he said.

“General Phillips would like to speak with you. Please follow me.” Without waiting for a response, the man turned and marched away toward command. Bucky followed at a quick walk. He kept catching himself tapping his fingers at his sides in a nervous rhythm and clenched his hands to stop. When they reached command, the man simply opened a door and gestured that he go inside. Bucky went in and stood at attention in front of the desk.

“Sergeant Barnes reporting, sir.”

The woman at the desk gave a wry smile. “At ease. I’m General Phillips. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing a lot about you recently.”

“You, uh, you have?”

“You and one of your soldiers have been in a shooting competition with each other, correct?”

“Um.” Bucky resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. “Yes, sir. Very casual. Has there been a problem? We’ve been trying to keep it safe…”

That was, unfortunately, not very true. While they did keep the guns and arrows restricted to the shooting ranges, Bucky and Clint had picked up a habit of turning everything into a shooting contest and had nearly hit a couple people in the head with projectiles. Most people knew to stay clear of the dart board and anywhere near it, but it was harder to avoid the flying pencils and fruit that kept getting lobbed about.

“You’re not in trouble,” Phillips said. “Actually, I have an opportunity for you. We’ve got someone important coming in for a visit, and while we’ve got some good people on his defense team, I want to bulk it up a little. It would just be you and Barton, and you’d be assigned as lookouts, basically bodyguards.”

“Uh…” Bucky blinked a few times as he tried to process everything. “Who, uh…”

“I believe you’ve heard of Mr. Tony Stark? His name is only all over our weapons.”

Stark. Stark was coming to Bagram, and he needed bodyguards.

“Who else is, uh, assigned…?”

“We’ve actually got mostly Air Force with him. This is their base, so they have first priority on his safety. But like I said. I’ve heard some good things about you, and I think a little extra protection won’t go amiss.”

“And we won’t be stepping on the flybirds’ toes?”

“Watch yourself, Sergeant,” Phillips said with a smile. “You’re going to be working with the ‘flybirds,’ and they might not appreciate the nickname. But in answer to your question…you probably will be stepping on some toes. But I don’t really care. Our job is to keep Mr. Stark safe while he’s with us, or at least as safe as he will let us keep him.”

“When are we leaving?” Bucky finally regained control of his mouth. He nearly sighed in relief at the fact that he seemed no longer to be speaking in idiot.

“Tomorrow morning. He’s on the plane over now and will be arriving at 0800. I’ll expect to see you and Private Barton at Air Force control at 0700 for briefing.” Phillips nodded sharply.

Bucky snapped back to attention and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“That’ll be all. See you tomorrow.”

——————————

Tony Stark was, Bucky quickly decided, an asshole. He was the sort of asshole who showed up half an hour late to his own demonstration and then acted like he was doing everyone a favor by being there at all when everyone else had shown up an hour early. He was the sort of asshole that said rude comments directly in front of people and then looked surprised when they got offended. And he had terrible taste in music.

“We’re getting into a dangerous area,” he said, reaching over to turn off the boombox. Under his breath he muttered, “You can’t even hear anything above the damn guitar riffs.” He turned to stare resolutely out the window again. Thankfully, he had shotgun, so he didn’t have to actually sit next to the guy. That job was reserved for a young recruit. Clint had been assigned to the car with Stark’s Air Force buddy. Bucky took a moment to be jealous—Rhodes had actually seemed like a decent human being.

“So are we not allowed to talk, then?” Stark asked. “I feel like I’m getting the silent treatment here.”

“It’s safer if we can stay focused,” Bucky replied. He refrained from adding a _besides if I have to hear much out of your smart mouth I might punch you_. 

“Ah. Well then.” Stark sat back in his seat and didn’t say anything the rest of the trip.

When they reached the demonstration site, Bucky tapped Clint and they gravitated to the edge of the crowd. They weren’t officially on guard duty for this part, but Bucky figured a couple extra sets of eyes wouldn’t hurt.

Bucky did have to admit that Stark really knew how to put on a show. He turned for a moment to watch the Jericho missile go off behind a posing Stark. Clint gave a low whistle. Bucky rolled his eyes and spun again to keep watching the area. Let the generals coo over the new tech. He had a job to do.

“He brought alcohol,” Clint said, sidling up next to Bucky. “It’s in a case like the guns are in. I think it’s refrigerated.”

“Good for him.”

“Think there’s a chance we’ll get one of those?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell, Private.”

Clint stood next to Bucky, staring out over the dusty hills. “I wish I had that kind of money.”

“So does everyone. What’s your point?”

Clint shrugged. “I dunno. Just dreaming, I guess.”

“Yeah? Well it’s time to refocus. Looks like we’re loading up.” Bucky walked back over to the truck.

“You wanna switch?” Clint asked. “I can ride with Stark this time.”

Bucky recalled the tense trip in. He frowned at Clint, then sighed. “All right. Just stay focused, okay? We’re here to do a job, not get cozy with the billionaire.”

Clint just grinned. “Yes, Sarge. I’ll be careful not to fraternize with the enemy.”

Tony Stark and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes approached the truck. Clint hopped into the front seat as Stark said to Rhodes, “This is the fun-vee. The hum-drum-vee is back there.” He pointed to a truck several spaces down and waved at Rhodes and Bucky.

“Just stay safe,” Rhodes said before leaving. Bucky followed him to the back. The two got into the truck, Bucky again riding shotgun. As they started to roll out, Rhodes said, “So. You and your buddy are Army, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said. He kept his eyes trained on the terrain. “But I won’t hold it against you that you’re not.”

Rhodes smiled and sat back. “Well thanks for that.”

They rode in peace for almost an hour. Bucky spotted some cliffs coming up on the driver’s side of the car, and he watched them carefully. He thought he spotted movement on one of the clifftops, but it was hard to tell from this distance. The first trucks in the line were just starting to pass the cliff when there was a flash of light on the top of the hill.

“What th—get down!” Bucky shouted as one of the first trucks of the caravan exploded. Bucky spun to face Rhodes, who was crouching in the back seat. “Stay down,” he said. He could hear gunfire all around and grabbed the radio at his shoulder. “This is Sergeant Barnes,” he said into the radio. “Does anyone copy?”

“Melendez was hit!” someone crackled over the radio. “We’re under fire!”

“This is Carson. We saw Melendez go up behind us. Should we double back?”

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Park,” a new voice cut in. “Do not return. Continue towards base if possible. Can anyone else continue on?”

“Lieutenant Hunt here. The back seems clear. We can retreat.”

“Get out if you can,” Park said. “Jameson, can you retreat?”

“If Hunt does, we can as well.”

“Blunt, can you retreat?”

Bucky’s driver grabbed the dashboard radio. “We’re clear from most of the fighting,” he said. “We can—“

“I need backup!”

“That’s Barton,” Bucky said. His knuckles were white as he clutched his rifle.

“This is Private Barton. I am with a civilian. We are off the road, pinned down. There are, uh, rockets—“

Bucky twisted his head to speak into his radio. “This is Sergeant Barnes. I’m on my way to you.” He flipped the volume down on the radio and grabbed the door handle.

“Barnes!” Blunt shouted, reaching out to grab his shoulder. “Stay in the car!”

Bucky opened the door and dropped to the ground in a low crouch. He heard the door behind him open as well and someone dropped to the ground behind him. He turned to see Rhodes crouched down next to him.

“I’ve got your six,” he said.

Bucky nodded and scooted toward the nose of the vehicle. The trucks behind them were already starting to pull back. He poked his head up above the hood of the truck and dropped immediately when a bullet pinged next to his head.

He took several deep breaths and turned to Rhodes. “We’re going to have to make a run for it,” he said. “It’s three cars up. You ready?” He slung his rifle over his back and drew his handgun instead.

“No,” Rhodes said. He readied his rifle. “Let’s go.”

They crossed the first space by running in a low crouch. Once beside the next vehicle, Bucky paused and poked his head back around the end of the truck. He aimed mostly from memory and shot at the top of the hill where he remembered the flash of light coming from. He waited for a count of ten, then leaned out and fired again in the same spot.

A count of thirty later and no more rockets were going off.

“Did you get the rocket launcher?” Rhodes asked.

“Let’s hope so. Come on. Two more to go.”

They ran the next two truck lengths in one quick sprint and paused next to the bullet-torn vehicle Tony Stark had been riding in. The back door was still hanging open, and two bodies littered the ground on the other side of the vehicle. Bucky turned and looked off the road, down the hill slightly on the side opposite the cliff.

“There, by that rock,” he said, pointing.

“I see the soldier,” Rhodes said. “Where’s—oh.”

Clint was lying down on the ground next to the rock. His head was buried in the sand, but he looked up every once in a while to point his rifle and shoot up at the hill. Just visible underneath him was a shaggy head of black hair, which was rising every once in a while only to be shoved roughly back down.

Bucky turned up his radio again. “Barton,” he said, cutting through the other people on the channel, “This is Barnes. I have eyes on you. Can you make it back up to the road?”

Down by the rock, Clint reached up to his shoulder where his radio was. “I’m a little pinned down here,” he said. A moment’s pause, then, “So is my companion.”

Bucky smiled. At least Clint was still able to joke around. “I’ll give you cover. Just do your best to get up here. On my mark.” Bucky turned to look at Rhodes, who nodded and shouldered his rifle. Bucky flipped his own rifle around off his shoulder and got ready to shoot. The two turned and hovered just on the edges of the truck. “Ready…go!”

He popped up from behind the truck and was immediately firing, shooting at anything that moved and hoping to at least keep everyone pinned down if not knock them out. He heard shots next to him from Rhodes, and after a moment caught the sound of shots coming from behind him. On the cliff, a man fell, carrying a frighteningly large gun.

“Nice shot,” Rhodes said.

“Not me,” Bucky admitted.

“Get down!” Clint screamed.

Bucky and Rhodes dropped to the ground. A loud shot fired and whizzed through the windows of the truck. Stark jumped up the last bit onto the road and fell to the ground next to them. Bucky turned to see Clint scrambling up the hill behind them. He collapsed on the road, leaning against the truck.

“Thanks for the warning,” Rhodes said. “And for taking care of this asshole.”

“I resent that,” Stark said, still gasping for air.

“No problem,” Clint said with a forced grin. “He made a nice mattress.”

Bucky fumbled for his radio. “Blunt, this is Barnes. You still there?”

“This is Blunt. I had to clear out,” Blunt responded. “We had other people who needed to get out.”

“Barnes.” Park’s voice was cold. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

“I recognize that, sir,” Bucky said, looking over the three men with him. “But I still need an extract before you can demote me.”

“How many are with you?”

“There’s four of us, sir, including me.”

“Nichols, do you have room for four?”

“Sorry, sir, I’m full. I took Perkins’ group.”

“All right. Barnes, you still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You four are in Perkins’ truck. Should be two back from Marretti.”

Bucky looked over at Clint, who pointed to the truck they were crouched next to and frowned.

“Get there, get it turned around, and get out. We’re working on a route out.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky turned down the radio again to focus on his immediate team. Clint was already stripping out of his armored jacket. “What are you doing?”

“We need to make him less conspicuous,” Clint said, draping the jacket over Stark. “Come on. We have to get moving.”

“You can’t leave without armor.”

Clint ignored him and used his teeth to rip an edge off his t-shirt. He started tearing the shirt, pulling off a long strip. Then he bent down and tied the strip around his upper thigh, where there was blood seeping through the pants. “I kind of think we have other things to worry about right now,” Clint said.

“Dammit, Barton, when did—“

“Just now, when I stopped to take that last shot. Come on, I can still run. Let’s go.”

“He’s right,” Rhodes said. “Our best bet is to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Fine,” Bucky growled. “Barton, take left flank.” At least he’d be farther from the gunmen. “Rhodes, can you cover Stark and our rear?”

“You got it,” Rhodes said. The four men shuffled into a tight huddle with Bucky leading, Clint just behind him and to the left, Stark behind him, and Rhodes behind Bucky. The three men with guns had them out and ready. Stark was yanking out his phone.

“Who the hell are you calling?” Rhodes said.

Stark was already speaking into the phone. “Pepper?” he said, “I’m being shot at!”

“Oh for the love of—Get off the phone and get your head down!” Rhodes shouted.

“We’re moving!” Bucky called.

They ran as quickly as possible to the truck two down, which was now at the end of the line, since all the others had cleared out. Clint stumbled at the last second but caught himself against the side of the humvee. 

“I think they’re losing steam,” Clint said. He ducked behind the side of the truck. “I only got grazed that time.”

Rhodes was already shoving Tony into the back of the truck. “Where’d you get hit?” he asked.

“Arm.” Clint gestured at a new mark in the sleeve of his t-shirt. “I can still shoot, though.”

“Good, because I’m going to have to drive,” Bucky said. He was looking into the truck at the dead body slumped behind the wheel. The front window was cracked around a small bullet hole, but it was possible to see through it. “Wait here for a moment,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat. He stretched across the truck, staying low, to open the driver’s side door. As soon as it was open, he pulled back and waited for the new burst of gunfire to die down. Then he shoved out the body and climbed into the driver’s seat himself. “All right, get in,” he said to Clint while closing the driver’s side door.

Bucky turned on the engine and set the car into reverse. Clint turned and looked at Stark and Rhodes in the back. Stark was huddled on the floor and Rhodes had his gun next to him but with the safety back on.

“Hang on,” Bucky said. He slammed on the gas and tried to just keep the truck straight as he flew back away from the gunmen. When they were away from the cliffs, he spun the wheel to make a three-point turn, jammed the car into gear and drove off. All four men waited for a solid minute as they drove off before releasing a collective sigh of relief.

Clint grabbed his radio. “Colonel Park?” he said, grinning over at Bucky, who could only grin back in response. “This is Private Barton. I am with Sergeant Barnes, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Stark. We are on our way back from the attack. Do you have an alternative route for us?”

There was no response for a moment, then the radio crackled on again. “Good to hear from you, soldier. We have an alternate route arranged, but it is significantly longer. Do you have any wounded who cannot make it back to base?”

Clint looked down at his leg, which was still seeping blood. “I’m, uh, I’m wounded. Gunshot.”

“All right, soldier. Hold on for another half an hour. We are regrouping and we have some helicopters coming in for a med evac. We’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Clint sighed and leaned back against his seat.

Stark, still on the floor of the truck, let out a deep shuddering sigh. “Oh man,” he said. “Oh man, oh boy, holy fucking shit. Are you actually telling me we made it out?”

“Looks like we might have,” Rhodes said. “Which officially makes you the luckiest damn bastard on the planet.”

Stark chuckled. “All right. Well. Then. I take back everything mean I said about Sergeant Stick-up-his-ass—“

“That’s you,” Clint informed Bucky.

“And your gigantic ass, soldier, uh…”

“Barton,” Bucky snapped. “It’s Sergeant Barnes and Private Barton.”

“Well, you both deserve awards. A medal. A promotion. Can we get them promotions, Rhodey?”

“Not really. You can try to suggest it, though.”

“Then I’ll do that. And I’ll resupply your outfit. And when you get back to the states, look me up. I throw a mean homecoming party. And I’d love to have more good men like you in my company, so, you know. Standing job offer. We’ll find something for you. What do you do, Barton?”

“I’m good at shooting things,” Clint said. “And jumping off things.”

“Well, I’m sure we can make it work.”

“How bad are those injuries?” Bucky asked quietly.

Clint winced. “Not fun. I think the one on my arm has scabbed over, though.”

“And your leg?”

“Uh.” Clint lifted his hand from where it was pressed against his upper thigh. His makeshift bandage and his pants were soaked through with blood. “You know. Not as good.”

“Hey. Don’t pass out on me.”

“Do my best, Sarge.”

They traveled for another twenty minutes before finding the rest of the survivors from the attack. As they pulled up with the rest of the trucks, Clint slumped against the door.

“Barton, you still with me?” Bucky said. “Clint!” He took a hand off the wheel to grab his shoulder.

“He’s passed out,” Rhodes said. “Blood loss.”

A soldier came running up to their vehicle. “Sergeant Barnes?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got them. Barton’s passed out. Do you have any medics?”

“The helicopter should be here soon,” she said, looking out. “We’ll get him out as quick as we can.” She looked into the back of the truck. “We need to evacuate Mr. Stark, as well,” she said. “There’s a few more wounded, but we need to clear the area of civilians as well. And if you’ll come with me, Sergeant, Colonel Park is outlining the alternate route back to base.”

“I’ll take care of Barton,” Rhodes said. “You go.”

Bucky nodded, exhausted already from the stress of the day, and followed the soldier over to Colonel Park. Park looked him over and pursed his lips.

“What is the status of your vehicle?” he asked.

“Fuel at half, windshield cracked, otherwise functional,” Bucky reported.

“We’re going to need more gas to get back to base, so we’re condensing,” Park said. “We’ve got a little extra space on one of the helicopters. I want you to head back to base with your man, Stark, and Rhodes. We need someone who can debrief the commanders there about the incident, and it’ll mean one less vehicle to take with us.”

Bucky sensed that the man was being kind, and he was absurdly grateful. After all, he’d gone against orders. But it looked like, maybe, probably because he’d saved the life of the army’s biggest supplier, there wouldn’t be any fall-out.

“Yes, sir,” he said, snapping a salute.

Park smiled, small and quick. “Go sit with your man. The choppers should be here in five minutes.”

Bucky didn’t remember the wait for the choppers. He barely remembered seeing them load Clint into the helicopter and getting in himself. He definitely didn’t remember falling asleep on the way back to base. He did remember, though, climbing out and seeing Sam and Hampton waiting, rushing forward to grab him as he toppled out and practically fell over.

“Relax, man,” Sam said. “You made it. You guys are safe. You’re heroes.”


	4. Gemini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I dodge the blast and apologize for collateral damage._  
>  “[Mercenary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPRVKNc97ws),” Panic! at the Disco

Bucky forced himself to take a shower and eat something instead of immediately falling asleep after his debrief with General Phillipps. Then he took a giant cup of coffee with him, his second of the hour, and headed over to the hospital to check on Clint.

The nurse at the front was giving him a funny look, and Bucky took a moment to realize that she seemed almost impressed. “Sergeant Barnes?” she said before he could open his mouth.

“That’s me.”

“Private Barton is down that hall.” She pointed to the right. “Room 107. The nurse should be by soon to check on him and can give you all his information.”

“Thank you.” Bucky shuffled down the hall, ignoring anyone looking at him. Apparently saving Tony Stark made people take notice of you. Which was stupid, of course. Just because he was richer didn’t make Stark’s life any more valuable than another person. So many of these people were heroes themselves. They shouldn’t be looking at him like that.

Room 107 was open. Clint was lying on the bed, still unconscious. He had an IV in his arm and a blanket pulled up to his chest. Bucky moved in to get a closer look.

Clint was still pale. His face was relaxed, but it seemed likely he was just on heavy medicine rather than peacefully sleeping. Bucky didn’t want to disturb him, but he figured he could at least look at the wound on his arm. He flipped up the sleeve of the hospital gown and inspected the bandage over what Clint had claimed was a shallow cut. But as he looked, he began to notice other marks along Clint’s arm. There were scars all up and down his right arm, and when Bucky leaned over to look at the left arm he saw more there.

“He’s still in a coma.” Bucky whirled to look at the nurse who had just come in. The man stepped forward and took the clipboard off the end of the bed. “It’s drug-induced. They figured some extra time to rest would be good for him. But he should be fine. The bullet didn’t connect with bone, just muscle tissue. He should be up and walking again in a couple months.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Bucky turned back to stare at the marks on Clint’s arm. “How about his arm?”

The nurse frowned. “It was just a cut. They disinfected it, put in a couple stitches. It should be fine.”

“I was just…” Bucky waved a hand at all the scars.

“Those?” The nurse came up to look. “Those are old,” he said. “Years old, by their look. This one here, this one looks maybe…ten years old?”

“Are those, uh. Are they from…him?”

The nurse looked confused for a moment before Bucky’s meaning became clear. “Well,” he said, “I can’t actually say for sure, but it doesn’t appear to be a suicide attempt. More like he kept getting into knife fights. Or someone kept attacking him with a knife. Look at these here.” He tapped at a few on Clint’s forearm. “These look more defensive. See how they’re on the outside of the arm, not the inside? Like he was defending himself. Probably from the same person who gave him the burns.”

Bucky turned to look at the nurse, wide-eyed.

“The...cigarette burns?” the nurse said slowly. “On his back? I figured people had probably seen them. They’d be visible even in a muscle shirt.”

“He doesn’t wear those,” Bucky said. His voice was little more than a whisper. Clint always wore t-shirts, never in white.

“Sorry, then. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.” The nurse frowned. “I’ll just let you go, then. He should be out until tomorrow, so you don’t need to stick around.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll just...wait with him for a bit,” Bucky said. He sat on one of the chairs at the edge of the room and let his head fall back against the wall. “Ten years,” he murmured. “And he isn’t even that old now…” The caffeine in his body ran out and he fell asleep in the chair.

——————————

Clint woke up the next day. Bucky visited after they’d run their tests, and Clint was sitting up in the hospital bed tossing pencils up into the air and catching them.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” Clint said when he saw Bucky. “I have been bored out of my mind.” He threw a pencil at Bucky, who caught it in one hand.

“So you’re feeling better?” Bucky sank into the same chair he’d fallen asleep in the day before. He’d snuck in a short nap there before someone came by to wake him up and send him back to barracks. His neck still ached, though.

Clint nodded. “Loads. Leg still sort of aches, which is a real bummer because I am pretty sure I’m still chock-full of pain meds. It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker when I get off of these, probably. At least for a while.”

“They sending you home?”

“Nah, it’s not worth the mess, I think. They can handle the injury here just fine, and if things go well then I will just be on desk duty for a while until I can get walking again. But don’t worry.” Clint flexed his arm. “I’m not going to let myself waste away in here. So I’ll still be able to whoop your sorry ass any time you want.”

Bucky smiled. “What the hell are you talking about? I beat you last time!”

“That was a fluke. I’m not counting it.” Clint flopped back against the bed. “God, I hate hospitals. This is so boring!”

“I’ll bring you something to do. You like puzzles?”

Clint turned his head and squinted at Bucky. “Are you joking? It feels like you might be joking but I’m not sure how to tell.”

“So, no puzzles?”

“Bring me a book or something. Or tell me what’s going on. Did Stark really get us new stuff? Do we get the alcohol cooler?”

Bucky laughed. “I don’t think we’ll get that ever, but as far as I know he’s keeping up his promise to get us new gear. Some new fancy toys, too. And, even more exciting, you and I are getting medals, and maybe promotions.”

“What, really?” Clint sat bolt upright. “For what?”

“Uh, saving Tony Stark? You were wounded in battle, and we both risked ourselves for civilian lives. Life. Whatever. Point is, you’re probably about to become a corporal, and I am getting bumped up to staff sergeant.”

“Are they moving us or anything?”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t think so. I’ll probably get assigned to look over a new group as well, and you’ll have to take on more responsibility, but otherwise I think the big change is a pay bump.”

“Nice!” Clint smiled. “So maybe promotions, definitely medals? All sorts of fancy treatment for us lowly heroes.”

“Yup.” Bucky had resisted staring at the scars on Clint’s arms, but now his eyes drifted there of their own accord. Clint shifted, rubbing his arms and looking away when Bucky’s gaze flicked up. Bucky took a deep breath and let it out. “So what sort of books do you want to read?” he asked.

Clint relaxed and let his arms fall to his side, clearly grateful not to talk more about his past just yet.

——————————

The doctors decided that, if there were no complications, they would release Clint from the hospital two weeks after the Stark Incident, as it was being called. But just over a week into his stay, Clint was whining at Bucky whenever he came by.

“I finished that puzzle,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Twice.”

“So at least you had something to do,” Bucky responded.

“I am. So. Bored!” Clint said. “They won’t let me do anything here! I asked for a dart board and they said I might hit someone. Then they said I was playing with my food when I turned the mashed potatoes into a sculpture of Stark’s face, and that I needed to just eat it. I’m not supposed to get up, just do these stupid exercises that I know are good for me, but do they have to hurt so much?”

“So what do you want to do? Just talk to me and whine about it?”

“Well, I mean, we can talk about other things.”

“I have a job still, you know. I can’t spend all my time hanging out with you.”

“I know that. Just, I don’t know. Throw me a bone. Give me something to do.” Clint looked up at him with huge puppy eyes.

Bucky sighed. “All right,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

Clint grinned. “I know where the nurses keep the microwave popcorn. And I think I can steal us a movie if you can get me something to watch it on.”

“I’ll go find a laptop. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Don’t worry.” Clint rubbed his hands together with glee. “I have a plan now.”

Bucky caught a ride back over to barracks to grab his laptop, then hoofed it most of the way back across base toward the hospital before hopping on a jeep for the last leg. When he arrived back at the hospital room, Clint was nowhere in sight.

“Shit,” Bucky said, putting the laptop down on the bed. “Clint?” He poked his head out into the hall and started walking, choosing a direction at random. “Clint?” he hissed, not wanting to draw any extra attention but still looking completely conspicuous.

From down the hall, he started to smell popcorn. He ran toward the smell, which quickly was joined by the sound of popping. Then was the smell of something burning and Clint cursing loudly. Bucky skidded to a stop outside a break room. Clint, resting on crutches, was jabbing at a microwave and waving smoke out of his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bucky said.

“Uh.” Clint looked up at Bucky, standing in the door, and then back at the smoking microwave. “Cooking?”

From around the corner, Bucky could hear voices. “They’re coming,” he said. “You’re going to have to apologize for this mess. You--”

He was interrupted by Clint going wide-eyed and racing past him on the crutches.

“Clint, wait! We’ll just tell them--”

Clint wrenched open the door to another patient’s room and hopped inside. Bucky, rolling his eyes, followed him. It was only when he stepped into the room and Clint slammed the door behind him that he realized that it was not another hospital room at all, but a supply closet.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Bucky grumbled. “It’s not that big a deal. It’s not like we set anything on fire. Why do we have to hide in a cl--”

Clint placed his hand over Bucky’s mouth as the sound of people walking past trickled in through the door. Clint was still wide-eyed. He whispered, “I stole Michelle’s popcorn.”

Bucky pulled his hand away. “And if we stay here, someone might steal my laptop.”

“She will kill me!” Clint hissed.

“I will kill you if my laptop gets taken! This is ridiculous! You get in more trouble than Steve!” Bucky threw his hands up in frustration.

“Who’s Steve?” Clint asked. “Is that the guy from supplies? With the motorcycle tattoo?”

“What? No. Steve Rogers. He’s...he’s a guy I knew. From Brooklyn.”

Clint stared at Bucky for a moment. “Brooklyn?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah. It’s where I grew up. Steve was my friend there. And I was pretty sure that no one was more into reckless endangerment than him, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Brooklyn?” Clint asked again, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yes! I said that! Twice now.”

“That’s it! That’s the accent!”

“What? I don’t have an accent.”

“Yes you do.” Clint was hopping back and forth now. Bucky was sure that if he didn’t have a bum leg, he would be actively dancing in circles. “You get mad and you sound like you’re from New York.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “There somethin’ wrong with bein’ from Brooklyn?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Clint stopped hopping and just stood there grinning. “Nah, it’s cool. I used to live in Brooklyn myself. Down by the bridge.” He started singing. “Brooklyn bridge is falling down, falling down, falling--”

The door to the supply closet opened, revealing an irate Sam Wilson.

“Sam!” Clint said, hobbling forward and smiling. “Did you know Sarge here is from Brooklyn?”

“I did,” Sam said, looking first at Clint and then at Bucky, who could feel his entire face flushing. “Should I be asking why you are in a closet instead of in your room, why you are in a closet with each other, why the nurses are so upset, or why you think the most important thing to tell me is Bucky’s hometown?”

Bucky’s shoulders hunched up around his neck and he shoved past Sam into the hallway. “Clint’s a popcorn thief,” he said, “and I’m going to get my laptop.”

“Aww, come on, don’t be that way! Come on, Sam’s here! Let’s watch a movie together! We’ll skip the popcorn.”

“Hey, buddy.” Sam came up to walk next to Bucky, leaving Clint to hobble along behind them. “It’s all right. You don’t have to stick around. Or I can go.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky looked away. “Didn’t know you and Barton were hanging out. I don’t want to bother you guys.”

“Man, you gotta stop being so dumb.” Sam shoved at Bucky’s head. “I’m here because I figured if you liked this bastard so much I should probably try to be friends with him, too.”

“I don’t like him!” Bucky protested.

Sam gave him a look. “All right, whatever. He seems like a cool guy, anyway. Even if he’s an ass. But you are, too. Come to think of it, I think I could use some better friends.”

“Uh, guys?” Clint had stopped outside one of the rooms and was pointing. “This one’s mine.”

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, smiled, and walked back to follow Clint into the hospital room. It was at this point in time that Bucky finally noticed that Clint was wearing a hospital gown and nothing else. His face flushed again, and he covered his eyes with his hand while Sam started laughing next to him.

“All right,” Clint said, sitting on the bed and opening up the laptop, “I managed to snatch this out of Milly’s desk while she wasn’t looking.” He held up a copy of _Sleepless in Seattle_ and grinned. “So. Pull up a couple of chairs or something. I don’t know. There’s not a lot of room on this bed but we can try to squeeze. Come on.”

Bucky ended up perching on the edge of Clint’s bed with Sam on a chair on his other side. As they started the movie, a nurse came into the room and glared at the trio.

“That’s Michelle,” Clint whispered. “Hi Michelle!” He waved.

A while later, one of the doctors came by and peeked in at the movie. “Oh, I love that one!”

“It’s a classic,” Clint said with a smile. As she left, he hissed, “That was Milly.”

Sam shushed him so he wouldn’t miss Meg Ryan trying to write a letter to Tom Hanks.

Bucky, looking over both of them, grinned and settled back on the bed.

——————————

After Clint was released for light duty, Bucky continued to swing by when he could to visit. On June 18, he walked into the office where Clint was working with a large box tucked under his arm.

“Happy birthday to you,” he sang as he walked in the door, “Happy birthday to you!”

Clint spun in his chair with a smile.

“Happy birthday to this asshole, happy birthday to you.” Bucky took the box and thrust it into Clint’s hands.

“Thank you, thank you everyone. I’d like to thank the academy for this award--”

“Shut the hell up and open the present.”

Clint waved at his coworkers, who all shook their heads and went back to work while he yanked out a pocket knife and cut open the box. “A present, Bucky? You shouldn’t have.”

“Probably not, but I did it anyway. Don’t get too excited. It’s just a care package.” Bucky had requested one for Clint last month, when he found out about the birthday. “Who knows what people pack in those. Rebecca always sends me cookies. I can’t convince her to stop. She doesn’t seem to believe that we have enough of those here.”

Pulling out a new pair of boots, Clint said, “Who’s Rebecca?”

“My sister. Little. She’s living in Michigan now, I think, with her high school boyfriend. Fiance. Husband. I can’t keep track. She’s got a kid. I think that’s why she moved to the midwest. To get out of the city.”

“Tell her the midwest isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Clint continued unpacking the box. A few pairs of socks. Granola bars. “Ooh, _Gone with the Wind_!” Clint held up a book and movie. “You like your sister?”

“Pretty well, yeah,” Bucky said with a smile. “She’s kind of a pain in the butt sometimes, but siblings, right? What’re you gonna do?”

Clint responded with a small, shaky smile. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m sure you were a great older brother.”

“Did my best,” Bucky said with a shrug. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle wrapped in newspaper. “Speaking of. This present’s from me, not just your anonymous friends in the states.”

Clint unwrapped the bottle of scotch and held it up with a small gasp. “Why, Sarge, I didn’t know you drank. Or that you cared.”

Bucky huffed and kicked at Clint’s foot gently. “What are you saying? I’m a prude?”

“No, what? Sergeant Stick-up-his-ass?”

Shaking his head and grinning, he responded, “Actually, my friends call me Bucky.”


	5. Hydra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We’re the beginning of the end._  
>  “[Young Volcanoes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-XUjmkrSe8),” Fall Out Boy

Clint was in the hospital for two weeks and on desk duty for three months before starting to train again with the team. Six months after the Stark Incident, which had actually turned into Stark firing his CEO and stopping weapons production, Clint was back to working full time with the unit. The doctors all said he was extremely lucky that the bullet had only lodged itself in the fleshy outer part of his thigh and that the wound hadn’t gotten infected.

Once he’d returned, it took a while for things to settle back into place. But by early December, everything was starting to run really smoothly again for Bucky and his unit. He and Clint had both adjusted to their new positions with little hassle, and the team was functioning well again.

Bucky walked with Sam toward the barracks. “It’s been nice, actually. I was expecting some weird tension, actually, but it’s been fine.”

“Between you and Clint?” Sam asked.

“I was more worried about stuff between Clint and the others. But they all seem to be getting along just fine, actually. I think they all finally got over whatever shit was bothering them when Clint first joined.”

The two rounded a corner and spotted three men wrestling on the ground. One of them was definitely Clint Barton.

“What the hell?” Bucky muttered.

“Is that Clint?” Sam said, squinting at the three men writhing on the ground.

“Goddammit.” Bucky started to run, shouting as he went. “Hey, break it up! Break it up!” He could see Rollins sitting on Clint’s back while Rumlow kicked at him. Clint was red-faced but still trying to swing upward at Rollins, who had to lean forward and pin his arms down. When all three of them finally noticed Bucky, Rumlow and Rollins pulled back immediately. Clint took a second to regain his breath, then he rolled onto his back and jumped straight up into a standing position. He looked at Rumlow, who glared and took a step forward, hand balled into a fist and coming up behind him. At the sight, Clint bolted. He disappeared around the corner of a building, and damn, Bucky hadn’t ever realized how fast he could be. At least the leg seemed to be well and truly healed.

Bucky decided to focus on the elements of the story he could deal with now and sort out Clint later. “Can someone find Barton and bring him back here?” he called out to the group at large. A few people peeled off the edges, Sam included, presumably to go look for him. Bucky turned back to the other two brawlers. “What happened?” he asked. Neither of them responded right away.

“Does anyone else have any idea what happened here?” Bucky asked, turning to look at the other soldiers. “Tavare? Price? No one?”

King, a smallish young man, said, “I didn’t see much. I just looked up and they were fighting.”

“Great, awesome. Does anyone know who threw the first punch?”

“It was Barton,” Rumlow said. “He came up and just knocked me in the jaw.” And indeed, there was a bruise starting to form there.

“Can anyone else verify that?”

A few other soldiers nodded. “It was Barton,” one said. “They were all arguing, and then Barton swung at them.”

“What were you arguing about? And why did you feel that a single punch on the jaw from a scrawny kid required you to pin him to the ground and kick his ribs in?”

Rollins frowned. “He was disrespecting us,” he said slowly.

“He was talking about how much better he was than us now,” Rumlow said.

“Why the hell would he do that?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know! Who knows why he does anything? I don’t think he’s all there. You’ve seen the way he is.”

Bucky’s head snapped around. “And what way is that, Rumlow?”

“It’s like you said before, Sergeant. He’s a troublemaker.”

One of the men who’d gone off to look for Clint came running back over. “We can’t find him, Sarge. It’s like he disappeared.”

Bucky frowned. Clint was an asshole, and he was utterly annoying, but Rumlow’s explanation wasn’t lining up. Clint wasn’t the kind of guy to start a fight. He was the kind of guy to run away, just like he’d done now when Bucky showed up. He’d want to get somewhere safe… Bucky glanced up at the roof of the barracks very quickly, then back at Rumlow and Rollins.

“I’m going to go find Barton and get his side of this. Then I’ll deal with him. For now, you two can get started by cleaning the bathrooms.”

Rumlow tilted his head up, and for a brief moment it looked like he was sneering at Bucky, but it quickly turned into a demure nod. “Yes, Sergeant,” he said. Rollins followed suit, and both headed toward the bathrooms, heads down in a move that spoke more of conspiracy than of humility.

Bucky decided to pick his battles, and right now his battle was Clint Barton. He began walking, looking up at the roofs of the nearby buildings. He circled out in a widening spiral. Sam found him wandering around.

“You look like Clint,” he said, “staring at the sky.”

Bucky just stared at Sam and waited for him to catch on.

“Oh,” Sam said after a moment. “That is…probably something I should’ve noticed sooner. You want me to help you search?”

“That’s all right. I think I need to deal with this one.”

“All right. Let me know if you need me. I’ll catch you later.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile before walking away.

Bucky watched him go with another small sigh. He did need to do this on his own, but that didn’t mean he was happy about being without any support.

A few minutes later, he heard a small sound on his left and looked up to see a thatch of blonde hair disappear below the edge of a roof. Bucky circled the building, looking for a way up, and ended up going over a few buildings to climb up a stack of boxes. He made a few terrifying leaps across alleys to get over to Clint’s hiding spot.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he actually found Clint, but it wasn’t a nest. The spot had blankets, a couple books, and a stash of food. Clint was curled up on the blankets, knees to his chest and rocking slightly back and forth.

Bucky crouched next to him. He sat, waiting for Clint to calm down before saying anything.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Clint muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“For being in a fight?” Bucky let his confusion show through and held back any reproach.

Clint looked over at him sharply, then went back to studying his fingernails. “I just wanted to help.”

“Help with what?”

“It was nothing,” Clint mumbled. “I just made a fucking mess, that’s all.” He stared at his hands for another minute. Bucky was growing sure that he wouldn’t say anything else when Clint suddenly said, “You want to know about my arms?” He nodded toward his arms. “Want to know why I’m carved up like a turkey?”

Bucky held totally still. He said nothing, waiting for the words to come pouring out.

“My dad was a real son of a bitch, you know? You know the type? And man could he pack a punch. I mean a real just...pow.” Clint uncurled his arms to punch his own palm, snarling as he watched the collision. Then he wrapped his hands around his knees again. “He was a smoker, too. That’s the burns. And once when he was really angry, he knocked me so hard I lost my hearing for a while. Never really got it back all the way.” He tapped at his left ear.

“Then when I joined the circus? There they had the knives. It was part of the show, you know? And training for the show…and dealing with the drunk performers and the managers after the show…. And then after the circus, well.” His jaw firmed up despite the shininess in his eyes. “I’m not…I’m just an old runaway. I’m not cut out to be a hero. I try, sometimes. But that thing that happened with Stark? That was a fluke. I just happened to be next to him and saw the rocket. But most of the time when I’m trying to help people, I just end up making a huge mess of things. I don’t know how to do anything other than just….” He shrugged and folded further into himself.

The space between Bucky and Clint stretched open like a wound, aching more as time ticked forward. “I don’t know,” Bucky said eventually. “I don’t know if anyone’s really good at being a hero. I guess you just sort of…do your best.”

“I like how you make it sound like that’s good enough.” Clint sighed and tipped his head back. “All right, lay it on me. What’s the penalty for fighting those jackasses?”

Bucky considered Clint for a minute before answering. “Cleaning duty. This afternoon.”

“Okay.” Clint stood and stretched out. He finally managed a small smile. “You know, I’m actually impressed you made it up here. It was fun watching you jump over here.”

“Why, how did you get up?”

“I’ve got a few tricks. Which will help me find a new place to perch, I guess, since this place has been well and truly outed.” Clint bent down and touched his toes, then stretched up again. Then he did a neat backflip, gripped the edge of the flat roof for a moment, and launched himself over the side to land softly in a crouch at the base of the wall.

Bucky ran over to the wall, eyes wide. He watched Clint stand up from his crouch and salute.

“So, Bucky, did you have a plan for getting down from there? Or would you like me to find you a ladder?”

——————————

Bucky made sure to keep an eye on Rumlow and Rollins now, especially when the unit was all together. Whenever there was free time, he and Clint would generally end up with Sam, who enjoyed watching their increasingly bizarre shooting competitions. For the rest of the time, there was a growing tension that Bucky only hoped would break sooner rather than later.

  
One day, Bucky was walking through the barracks area and heard Rumlow’s distinctive drawl. He slowed his pace and walked slowly to the edge of the building, waiting just out of sight to listen in on what was being said.

“I asked you a question,” Rumlow said, and there was a small grunt in response as well as the sound of feet shuffling back. “How many dicks did you have to suck to get all the special treatment?”

Bucky ground his teeth. No one else had said a word, but he would have bet his gun on Clint being the target of this verbal abuse. How had no one ever brought this up before? Had no one else noticed? Admittedly, even Bucky hadn’t had actual proof of anything. Rumlow was good at hiding in plain sight.

“Maybe it wasn’t you, huh? Maybe it’s just Barnes, fucking his way to the top and taking you with him. God, too bad the little fag didn’t fall in love with me—“

Bucky whirled around the corner just in time to see Clint socking Rumlow in the jaw. He ran forward to stop the fight from getting any worse.

“Barton!” he called out. Rumlow and Clint both turned, Rumlow practically sneering before he schooled his expression into something approaching hurt.

“He just started wailing on me,” Rumlow started.

“Save it,” Bucky said. “I heard you.”

This time Rumlow actually sneered. “What, so you’re just going to defend your boyfriend? He’s the one who punched me.”

“You are lucky he got to you first, then,” Bucky said, raising his chin. “If you walk away from this now, I might not report your ass for talking that way about a superior officer.”

“You can’t do anything,” Rumlow said. “What are they going to do?”

“I’ll tell them you started a fight and Barton was defending himself. I’ll tell them what I heard and saw, and with Corporal Barton supporting me, I’m sure we can manage to convince someone.”

Rumlow backed away. “Shit man,” he said, starting to see that he was already in the hole, “Barton must be a really good fuck.”

Bucky clenched his fists but still put out his hand to stop Clint from running anywhere, either toward or away from Rumlow. “There’s the line you shouldn’t have crossed,” Bucky said. “Have fun with the rest of your time in the Army, and I hope I never see your face again.”

Clint leaned over. “We’re reporting him?” he said, still a little in shock.

“You bet your ass we are.” Bucky nodded at Rumlow. “See you in hell.” He turned Clint by the arm and the two of them walked away. They headed toward the main offices to start the report.

Halfway there, Bucky finally asked, “Has that been going on long?”

Clint shrugged. “I guess. They were always going to get after me about something. Being a carnie, being poor, whatever. Then we both got promotions and Rumlow started ragging about your...you know.” He straightened slightly and his shoulders stiffened.

Bucky ignored the burning in his ears. “Is that what the last fight was about? When you ran?”

“Maybe.” Clint cut his eyes over to Bucky. “I don’t like it when people talk bad about my friends.”

“You didn’t need to defend me.”

“I know. I just…” Clint sighed and relaxed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I got sort of used to it, I guess. I had this friend, you know? Back when I was living in New York?”

“When were you living in New York?”

“It was when I was down by the bridge? I got out of the circus when I was 17. Found out they were up to some really shady shit, you know, with like, trafficking and stuff. So I ditched them and ran away to New York. Figured I could make it big. Only ended up making it average sized, like you are, but you know how it is. Anyway. But I had this friend, right? Bobbi. She was this really sweet kid, even younger than me. And she’d been kicked out because she was dating a girl.” He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose.

Bucky nodded his encouragement and to show he was still listening. It wasn’t the type of story he liked to hear, but he knew Clint needed to say it.

“Anyway. Some of the guys there, they would come up and they’d talk about her, say things about her even though she was the nicest person I ever knew. So I just sort of…I started trying to help. I would hang out with her a lot more, I moved my stuff over to be closer to her at night. And one guy, he was this real asshole, and he came up and was saying all sorts of shit, and he looked like he was going to grab her. So I punched him, right in the face.” Clint shuddered.

“But he’d been waiting for it. His friends were there, and they all grabbed me and started punching and kicking. And I know how to fight, but there were a bunch of ‘em, and…” He shook his head. “Anyway. When everything was over, she took me to the hospital. Not even for herself, you know? After what they did to her? All she cared about was me. Like I said. Nicest person I ever met. She was the one who told me to get a real job, too, actually. So here I am.” He shrugged and gave a nervous chuckle.

The two of them walked in silence for a while. “Clint,” Bucky said after a quiet moment, “at some point in time you are going to run out of horrible stories about your past, and I am going to be so excited when that day comes.”

Clint grinned, eyebrows raised. “I actually think I’m about all out.”

“Thank God.” Bucky turned his head to look at him. “At least know you don’t have to take care of me, all right? Just…just take care of yourself? For once?”

“Well, sounds like a tall order, Bucky,” Clint said, looking down at his friend, “But I’ll do my best.”

——————————

Patrol duty was not fun. It involved a lot of tense buildup often with very little that actually happened. Boredom and terror combined into one. Bucky couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than staying on base doing nothing every day. Bucky and his team, sans Rumlow and Rollins for the past three months, walked through the city, checking on all the people and making sure everything was staying at least mostly peaceful.

"Sarge's birthday is next week, you know," Clint announced to the group.

"No shit?" Manelli said. "We gonna have a party?"

"Well, not to brag, but I'm on good terms with the cooks." Clint grinned. "I think I can get us a cake.

Price shook her head. "Yeah right. Next you'll say we're planning a surprise party."

Clint's eyes went wide. "You can't talk about the surprise party! He is standing right there!"

Bucky chuckled but didn't interrupt their talk.

Despite being apparently in the middle of plans, Clint was the one to first hold up his fist to halt the group. He pointed over at a pile of trash. “Hold up, over there.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“Exposed wires.”

“Shit.” Bucky called out to the team. “Pull back! I want everyone back away from the street.” He himself ducked behind a wall and grabbed his radio. “Command, this is Staff Sergeant Barnes. We have eyes on a potential explosive in quadrant three, requesting a removal team.”

“Barnes, this is command. We have your information and we are dispatching a removal team to your location. Clear the area and sit tight.”

Bucky leaned against the wall and let his head fall back. “Damn.” He gestured for his team. “We need to clear the area. Manelli, Cohen, circle around to the left. Clear a perimeter. Koenig, Price, head right. Barton, you circle right and all the way around to the other side. Marcus and Tavare, I want you to take left all the way to the back. I’ll hold here and wait for the removal team.”

“Are we allowed to take bets this time on how long it’ll take them?” Price asked, already heading out.

“Two hours,” Clint said.

“Clear the area first,” Bucky said, holding back a grin. “Then someone mark me for three hours until we’re clear here.” He watched the soldiers head out and around. They needed to establish a wide perimeter around the explosive but maintain eye contact. Bucky started calling out to the civilians. “Get back!” he shouted. “Get inside! In the buildings!” He kept an eye out for anyone who might have set the bomb or be trying to set it off remotely with a cell phone.

Only ten minutes later, he heard a call come over the radio.

“Sergeant, this is Barton, requesting a discussion on channel 3.”

“Switching.” Bucky switched over his radio to the new channel. “What’s the trouble, Barton?”

“There’s a kid. She’s in the blast zone. She won’t come out. I think she’s scared.”

Bucky looked across the square and spotted a small figure toddling down the street. Behind her, Clint was crouched, hands outstretched.

“She’s too far in. You need to finish clearing everyone out. Going after the kid will put you into the blast radius.”

“I think I can get her,” Clint said.

“Negative. Hold your position, Corporal.”

“Is everyone else clear?”

Bucky did a quick sweep of the area before stopping himself and saying, “It doesn’t matter. Stay where you are.”

“Bucky…” Clint was plaintive.

“Barton.” Bucky could feel himself losing this battle. What was he supposed to say? Don’t rescue the little girl who is walking towards a large bomb? But then, what if it was a trick just to draw in the soldiers so someone else could set it off…

Clint stood up and took a step forward toward the girl. Then he stepped back, hesitated a moment longer, and radioed in. “I’m going in, Bucky,” he said. And he started sprinting forward.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered. He started frantically searching through all the people standing nearby, looking for anyone who might have the on switch that would kill his friend. He one-handedly switched the radio back and called out to his team, “Search for anyone who might be setting this thing off. We’ve got a man on the field.” He released the radio and grabbed his rifle, swinging it back and forth.

“Sir,” he heard Koenig saying. “I’ve got—“

The bomb exploded.

Bucky shielded his eyes from the blast as he still tried to search for Clint. “Barton,” he said into the radio. “Barton! Clint!”

The dust began to settle. Bucky spotted a figure lying on the other side of the street, and he ran toward it full pelt. Sliding next to the body, he tried to turn it over, but his hands were shaking. “No, no, no, no,” he muttered. “Don’t you fucking dare, Barton. Don’t you fuckening dare die on me.”

He managed to flip the body onto its back. It was Clint, still holding onto the little girl. The two of them had been facing away from the blast and had flown forward in the explosion, landing hard in the street. Bucky looked at the blood streaming from her head and simply tried to peel Clint’s hands away from her dead body. Clint’s hands tightened as he tried to remove them.

“Oh thank god,” Bucky whispered. Clint moaned and changed his grip, letting go of the girl in order to reach up and grab his head. “Clint,” Bucky said. He pulled the girl away behind him before reaching out to grab Clint’s shoulders, “Clint, what happened? Where are you hurt?”

Clint looked up at Bucky. “The girl?” he said, looking around.

“She’s fine,” Bucky lied. “How are you?”

Clint shook his head. “What happened to the girl?”

“I told you, she’s fine—“

“What happened?” Clint barked. “Say something!” He turned to stare at Bucky.

Bucky stuttered, “Clint I, I’ve been…can you not—?”

Clint was already crying. He clapped his hands over his helmet and started rocking back and forth. “No, no, no, no!” he screamed.

“I need a medic!” Bucky shouted. He reached forward to pull off Clint’s helmet. Blood was streaming out of his ears and down the sides of his neck. “Oh my god. Clint.” Bucky reached forward and pulled Clint toward him.

Clint only clutched at Bucky’s shirt and curled in on himself. “I can’t hear anything, Bucky,” he sobbed. “I can’t hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! See series collection for full notes.


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